How Blue is My Sapphire
by Sanchari Das
Summary: For some, it's not so easy to forget the past... But for others, it's too difficult to even remember them...


**How Blue is My Sapphire**

All of us live with our past. All of us allow it to shape our future. But some of us know how to shrug the past. I think that is who I am, for I don't ruin a good today by thinking about a bad yesterday or an uncertain tomorrow. Most of us find it hard to be happy because we refuse to let go off the things that make us sad. But, just because something wrong has happened in the past doesn't mean it will happen again in the future. We can always change the course, like I did.

But, I wasn't born like this. There's always a story behind every person. There's a reason why they are the way they are. Pain alters our personality. Every pain gives a lesson and every lesson changes the person. The same is true of me as well. Although I didn't allow my past to decide my future, yet it had changed the way I used to be; for even if we survive a storm, we can be certain that once we come out of it, we won't be the same person who walked in.

I still remember the day. All the memories are clearly etched in my mind, yet it couldn't cast its ugly shadow on my life. And, how could it? My Sophie would have never allowed that.

It was Sunday evening and I was dressing myself in my newly bought red dress, excited as it was my Aryan's birthday. I had been saving money for months to buy me a red dress and gift him a white shirt on this day. Aryan was the best thing to have happened to me. He was the only one who genuinely cared for me. After my parents passed away in a car accident, I had begun tasting how hell was like as I had to shift to my aunt's house. Although she sheltered and fed me, she had never loved or cared for me. It was more of a responsibility to her. She didn't even let me study after my 12th board exams and was now striving hard to marry me off and get rid of the burden.

The loud beep of his Mercedes broke my train of thoughts and I ran straight to him. He couldn't put his eyes off me and when he put on his shirt, neither could I. The driver drove us to the club he had booked for the grand party, where we danced, ate and drank. All the time, he was constantly staring at me, making me blush more often. He then brought two drinks that we enjoyed having together. But then suddenly I began feeling dizzy. I tried hard to keep my balance, but couldn't. Aryan sensed it and jumped forward to hold me as I fell all over him.

When I woke up, I found myself lying on a hard surface, engulfed in darkness. I tried to get up, but my whole body ached and a crippling pain took over my entire body, while my head thumped in acute pain. I suddenly felt something wet near my hips. My trembling fingers somehow gathered the courage to touch the floor beside it. I felt the stickiness and the slimness of the fluid on my fingertips. It was blood. Yes, blood was oozing out from my body. Horror filled my mind as I suddenly realized the naked truth. Tears rolled down my eyes as my hand ran through my naked body. I felt a burning pain raging all through it as I was bleeding profusely from my neck, breast and the lower-half; and there were bruises on my face, arms and legs. Terror held me like a vice-like grip as I closed my eyes to accept the hard reality that I was raped.

For a long time I laid frozen to the spot, while silent tears dropped down and my heart shattered into millions of tiny pieces. It was the worst feeling ever to be used by someone whom I thought actually genuinely cared for me. The pain in my heart was a lot more than that in my body.

After a long time, I finally opened my eyes. "What has happened, has happened; I need to be strong now," I said to myself, and swept off the tears from my eyes. "This is not the time to cry. I must escape now, if I want to survive," I told my heart and dragged myself in the darkness, trying to figure out my location. Loud music told me that I was still somewhere very near to the club. I searched fanatically for my clothes but couldn't find them. Hovering here and there I realized that I was in some kind of a store-room. I, then, began searching for something to cover me. Luckily, I found a piece of cloth, long enough to cover most of my exposed parts. I quickly wrapped it over me and strived to find the exit. I finally found the door. Fortunately, it wasn't locked. I push opened it and tried to run with all the last remaining strength I had with me. Although, I couldn't run as fast as I intended to, yet I didn't stop or fall. I somehow kept on dragging myself. My legs were paining, and felt heavy as though something is pulling it from behind, yet I kept on running.

Even in my hurry to escape, I could feel the gaze of the passers-by on me. Suddenly, I had turned into an intruder, an alien—a thing to look at, gaze and wonder. Suddenly all of them became busy discussing and gossiping about me while stealing shrewd glances at me. Some even frowned at me, as if I were something right out of the gutter. Some shooed me away, as if I were a filthy stray dog. None felt sympathetic towards the girl who was badly bruised or felt the need to ask if they could help in any possible way. All they could do was to gossip and spread nasty rumor, as always. No eyes had any pity left in them; all their glare had were hatred, anger and cruelty. Even the people I knew suddenly turned strangers, stealing away glances when I tried to look at them, lest I try to talk. They couldn't bear the guilt of being acquainted to a girl so undesirable as me. But the real irony lies in the fact that these people will be the first ones to go home and satisfy their fluttering tongues by gossiping about it to each and everyone they came across and would surely add some more lascivious elements to the story. And soon, it will become the hot cake news for a few months.

The society has this favorite hobby of playing God and making a big deal out of things they shouldn't be making a deal out of. I don't know why they are so obsessed with making everything in the world their business all the time. And it's always the ones with the dirty hands pointing the fingers. I wondered whether they would still be beautiful if the words they spoke appeared on their skin.

Each and everyone on the street behaved as if I'm the one to be dishonored, as if I was the one responsible, as if I were only the criminal; while I was just a victim—a poor, helpless victim. But then, isn't rape the only crime where the victim becomes the accused? The real criminal is probably dancing with all his mirth now, tapping his feet to the loud music at the club, priding himself on how easily he had betrayed a stupid girl who had bestowed all her trust upon him. I wanted to shout out this to those who dared to look at me that way. But then, can you make anyone, who are deaf by choice, hear what they don't want to listen? No matter how loud I shout, my voice would never reach them. I would either be deliberately silenced or preferably unheard.

So, all I could do was to run with all my might, for death was the last thing I wanted to face. But I really didn't know where to go and wasn't sure what should I do next; but one thing I was very sure of—I'm not returning to this city and to these hypocrites anymore. But then, where will I escape from them? They are everywhere. We live in a society that teaches us "Don't get raped" rather than "Don't rape". We live in a country where a girl is neither safe inside the womb nor outside it. And, the worse part of it is that we cannot escape it, no matter how fast we run or how far we go.

I would never understand why it is more shameful to be raped rather than to be a rapist, or why the society try to educate woman to defend themselves rather than teaching the man not to rape and why the parents tell their daughters not to go out rather than teaching their sons to behave. The society excels when it comes to brushing the real issues under the carpet and making bizarre statements in compensation. From Chinese food to the length of a girl's skirt to the colour of her lipstick to the time in the night—everything is to be blamed for the rapes happening in the country, everything but the rapist. But truth be told, there is one and only one reason for rape—and that is the rapist itself. The society would easily blame the victims for being provocative, but they won't point their fingers at the rapists who look at them with dirty eyes. If the victims are to be accused for being provocative, then the bank that was robbed must also be blamed for its contents were provocative. But the biggest irony here that takes the cake is that in a country where Goddesses are worshipped as a symbol of Power, Wealth and Knowledge, its girls and women are the worst sufferers and the most neglected, accused and tortured beings here. With all these thoughts in my mind that added fuel to the fire burning within me, I ran till I reached a deserted road.

I had begun to fell tired by then. My legs were too weary to move. My whole body was aching as though it were to break any moment. I found a dark corner and threw myself there in exhaustion and closed my eyes. The thought of what should I do next lingered in my mind. Suddenly I heard a soft, suppressed groan—a kind of painful moaning. I raised my ear to listen carefully and figured out that it was coming from the dustbin beside me. I stood up and slowly went near it. I kick opened the lid. As expected, I found a puppy in there. But what I didn't expect was the condition in which it was lying there. She was injured—terribly injured. And, so was I. She was bleeding profusely. And, so was I. It has cuts almost all over its little body. And, so had I. Suddenly, I felt a strange connection with her. I took her out and held her in my arms. She whined in pain and looked at me. There was a tinge of pity in her eyes. I slowly brought her close to my face and she licked it. Somehow, she had realized that I was hurt too. And, then it was as if our pain merged into one and our souls got united, completely inseparable.

I felt the urge to run again—not only for me, but also for her, this time. I couldn't afford to lose her. How could I? She was the only one, in that whole night, whose eyes had a compassion for me. She was the one who could feel and understand my pain, and had even tried to brace it off by licking my wounds. She can't speak, yet her eyes spoke a lot. She couldn't help much, yet her licking provided huge solace. Humanity is what we call it, huh? Well, although the term derived itself from the word "human", yet it was depicted by a "dog"—a mere wounded street dog. How could I let her die?

I embraced her in my arms and begun running again. She had already started licking the bruises there. I came to the main road, but it was deserted too. Suddenly my legs gave way and I fell down. My head begun to ache and I felt dizzy. Even in my blurry vision, I could see her eyes glittering at me. Then, everything shut upon me.

The next time I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed. It was already morning by then. At first, I couldn't remember anything. Then slowly the flashbacks of the evening starting playing itself and I remembered about her. I frantically moved my head, searching for her. A nurse came running to me.

"Don't… Stay calm… calm down," she said.

"Where's she? Where is my…," was all I could say.

"Upstairs. Your puppy is upstairs. She's in the veterinary section. Dr. Batra is taking care of her. Don't worry, she'll be fine," she calmed me down.

Later, I came to know from her that a lady, who saw me lying unconscious on the footpath, pitied me and brought me to the hospital. Seeing my puppy in that pathetic condition, she had brought her here too. She had even paid the hospital fees for us and had promised to come in the evening.

I then narrated my part of the story to the nurse. She asked whether I wanted to lodge a FIR. I said no, for I wasn't sure who did it. Was it my boyfriend, or somebody else, whom to lodge an FIR against? Moreover, what's the use of punishing him anymore? A lot had been punished before—just seven years of jail for ruining a life! No physical harassment, no mental torture, no rejection by the society. What's the use of such a punishment? I'm safe and I'm really happy to have my new mate, what more could I have ever wished for?

In the afternoon, the nurse brought her to me. She wagged her tail and licked my face while I patted and hugged her. I had named her Sophie—after the word "Sapphire"—for the way she saved me from plunging into grief, preventing me from becoming emotionally shut down and reduced my inner onslaught and trauma—for isn't it exactly what a blue sapphire does?

We live together now at a flat that the nurse and the lady had helped me to buy. I have even started an art-and-dance school where I teach small children drawing, crafts and dance—a thing I had always wanted to do. It gives me immense pleasure when I look at their glittering eyes.

Now when I look back to that day, all I remember is how I met my Sophie and how pleasant my life is with her. Life had really been very unfair to me, I admit. But then, no one said that life has to be fair in order to be beautiful. And, life is now really beautiful for me. "Fear" is a term long forgotten, for dare anyone come near to harm me, my Sophie would tear them apart.


End file.
